


After The Storm

by Mrs__Spooky



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'm just going for angst and smut tbh, So here we are, and really fancy Rory McCann
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 02:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs__Spooky/pseuds/Mrs__Spooky
Summary: Spoilers for the last few episodes of season 8!!! This starts pretty much just after everything has calmed down in episode 5 and follows the show for about 2 seconds before spiralling off into my own thing because I don't want Sandor to be dead.Sandor has, inexplicably, managed to survive the fight with his brother. With his life goal complete he has only one remaining, protect Sansa Stark.Sansa has managed to get through the war still alive and begin to gather together the things she now knows she wants. She has only one thing she wants still out of her grasp, Sandor Clegane.





	1. Chapter 1

He groaned, deep and low in his chest as he became aware of pain consuming his entire body. A weight pressed on his chest, restricting his breathing, while the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils and made him want to vomit. His head throbbed, one of his eyes felt like it was on fire and his mouth was so dry he wondered if there was enough water in the city to quench his thirst. There had never been enough wine. This is it, he realised. This was the seven hells he’d been so often warned he would spend his after life in. He relaxed his body, ready to accept this was the fate he had caused himself when he heard the soft whine of a horse.  
It was enough to make him open his eyes, keeping them open as they burnt from the sudden light. As his eyes adjusted he chuckled roughly, if he hadn’t been so beaten up and in so much pain he may have fully belly laughed for the first time in his life. The weight on his chest was his brothers body, dead and much more burnt than himself. It seemed his brother was so large that, while having him fall on top of him hurt immensely, he’d also protected Sandor entirely from the flames that had licked around them. The lingering scent of burning flesh was, this time, not his own.  
Shoving the body of The Mountain off him he sat up, wincing as he did. It was a struggle, he had to brace himself with his hands and move slowly in an attempt to not make every part of his body scream at him with pain. Even with every muscle in his body aching he couldn’t stop his marred lips from spanning a smile onto his face. There, the little wolf bitch, covered in blood and ashes sat atop a large white horse. She looked down at him expectantly.  
“Looks like we both managed to survive once again. I suppose your place on my list remains.” She told him as she climbed down from her horse and offered him a hand. He almost pulled her over with the effort it took him to get up, but eventually they managed it. They rode through the streets, avoiding those entirely blocked by rubble or with too many bodies for them to avoid the horse kicking them. The destruction within the city was unlike anything Sandor had ever seen. The two rode in silence with grim expressions, unable to process just how many deaths had been suffered at the hands of their new queen. The ride was a struggle for Sandor, who was beginning to wonder if it was possible to have entirely broken every bone in his body, but eventually they found the first huddled group of survivors. From there, they found more and more until eventually Arya found Jon. Sandor was close to passing out and barely heard their conversation. He felt Jon pull him off the horse, felt someone else join him as he drifted away. 

Within the next turn of the moon, Sandor had been treated by a Maester and was feeling much better, though he still had no idea how he’d survived the fall and the fire with fewer injuries than he’d suffered from his brother in the past. He’d been bruised all over, broken a few ribs and had a fair few injuries from the fight, but it could have been much worse.  
Arya was mostly shadowing Jon, now even more distrustful of their new Queen and Sandor was sure she and Jon were plotting something against her. He left the wolves to their scheming and tried to remain as in the background as possible. Most importantly, to Sandor, Sansa would soon be arriving south to join with her siblings in helping rebuild the city and decide how to assist the Queen in the breaking of the wheel.  
He had dreamt of the look on her face, that tiny smile and glint in her eye, when she had told him how she killed the Bolton. He dreamt of her often, her face when he had scared her, when he had wiped the blood off her lip when he had seen how much she wanted to do something stupid, but it was her face when she had told him she had used hounds to kill the man who had done so many terrible things to her had been the face he cherished most.  
He had never been more proud of her, though it made him sad too. Ever since he’d first started trying to protect her from Joffery he had wanted to protect her from everything and he had failed her, time and time again. He would never be a religious man, but he prayed he may be given the chance to protect her from anything that would try to harm her in future. He would not see her hurt again.  
Sandor had been sat on a flight of stairs behind the red keep, one of the few places in the city that had avoided the majority of the damage, when Arya had appeared around a corner as though the Stranger himself were chasing her. Sandor took several large, quick steps and grabbed her by the back of her tunic, holding her in the air for a moment as her legs continued to run. He wondered when she would finally let him have some peace, then supposed she probably never would.  
“What’s got you so fucking excited?” He growled, his amusement clear in his voice and face.  
“Jon. Jon just killed the Queen. He stabbed the Queen.” Arya gasped out, barely able to catch her breath while her panicked eyes bored into his. He’d rarely seen the girl look so utterly afraid and lost, he knew it was the idea of losing more family. Especially now the damn war was supposed to be over and done with.  
“For fuck sake.” Sandor muttered, shaking his head and dropping Arya, heading towards the throne room where he had seen the pair headed earlier. He didn’t trust the Queen, he’d learnt his lesson where royalty was concerned, and he was glad not for the first time that he kept himself aware of where she was at any time he could.  
He was about to step into the ruined room when the great dragon roared and despite himself, he threw himself back against the wall. First, he reprimanded himself for cowardice, then he saw the light from the flames dance into the corridor and forgave himself immediately. He kept his eyes closed tight until he was sure there was no more light and then opened them. He waited to hear the flapping of the great dragons wings before entering the room. He stood beside Jon, both of them staring in shock at the pile of molten iron that had once been the throne so many had died for.  
Sandor had seen so many people sit in that chair, and none of them had survived. He was glad to see it fucking gone. He hoped the cruelty and stupidity it had bred in the quest for highest power would melt away with it, but he was too old for stories and lies, he knew human greed wouldn’t end. At least some people cared about more than the damn throne and the power it carried. He knew Jon felt at fault, at least partly, for the Queen burning the city and so many innocents. Jon hadn’t stabbed the Queen for power, riches or the false admiration of those he would be able to rule over.  
“You stabbed the Queen.”  
Jon nodded and turned to look at Sandor, pain clear on his face. Sandor found himself respecting the quiet resilience Jon had about him, he knew what he had done and that once it was found it he would likely die, and he had just accepted it. Sandor schooled his expression as he had so many times in that very room while he looked about him. He bent, picking up the dagger Jon had used and tucking it into his boot. The blood that was still on it barely made a difference with how dirty and stained everything he wore was.  
“A man you didn’t recognise stabbed her to take the throne. When he sat on the throne, the dragon burnt him.” Sandor growled, turning and walking back out. He’d get rid of the dagger sooner rather than later and then forget the whole thing. Helping Jon meant Sansa would keep what little family she had left, and Sandor could already feel this wouldn’t be the last time he’d end up trying to help Jon Snow. 

Sandor avoided what he could following the death of the Queen. Some things, like her funeral, he had attended to ensure no one would question his loyalty, there were those who still thought the Queen slayer was alive, but the parties that followed in supposed remembrance of her were ones he avoided. He went about his life avoiding what he could, waiting and waiting for everything to be done so he could escape the city he despised and head back North to be with Sansa. He was almost glad when the Lords arrived with their fancy carts and horses to decide who would be the next ruler, because it meant Sansa must surely be on her way by now. Only almost though, since he saw the weary and suspicious looks they still cast in his direction. Even as he kept quiet and out of the way they stared with narrowed eyes and clear distrust, so he doubled his efforts to stay out of their way.  
He spent every day for six days watching the kings road that lead to Winterfell, waiting to see the small party of Northerners that would be travelling with Sansa and yet still, when the men holding the Stark sigil appeared in his view he had to rub his eyes to ensure he wasn’t imagining it. He waited until they pulled closer and he could see the red of Sansa’s hair flying in the wind to turn and join the party that would be greeting them just with in the city walls, Jon and Arya amongst them. He had stopped for a moment in the deserted street behind them to catch his breath so they wouldn’t know he had ran there, the excitement kicking his chest keeping him from any pace near a respectable walk.  
Sandor kept his eyes to the ground as the banner men rode past. He kicked the dirt and ashes that still covered the cobbles beneath his feet and wondered how long he would be able to keep from looking at her before he gave in. He counted to six before lifting his gaze, his eyes snapping to hers as though he already knew where she was and widening in surprise to fine her already looking at him, a small smile playing across her lips even as she stared directly into his eyes. He could barely believe she had been afraid to look at him once, now she gazed at him like she did the pretty boys pretending to be knights at the few tourneys she had attended.


	2. Chapter 2

She gracefully dismounted her horse with her hand daintily placed in Jon’s and Sandor watched, taking deep breaths through his nose to force himself not to grit his teeth. How he wanted to offer her his hand, his sword, anything she’d damn well take from him. He watched her closely as she greeted Jon, noticing that though there was genuine happiness in her eyes there was a slight tension between them he had never noticed before. He found himself trying to work out if it were more likely due to their disagreements over the Queen or over the North, then he supposed they were one and the same.   
She moved along the small line of people meeting her to greet Arya, Sansa looked ready to cry upon seeing her little sister again, despite that it hadn’t been all that long since they had last seen each other. Arya might have look unbothered, perhaps even a little put out to anyone who didn’t know her, but Sandor did know her and he could see the unadulterated joy that she kept hidden more than most. Wolves ran in packs after all, even the most vicious and untamed.  
Sansa greeted Bran with a more reserved happiness, though she was clearly just as happy to see him as she was her other siblings. He understood that, he was a man that had seen many terrifying things but that boy sent a shiver up his spine like no other. He wasn’t scary necessarily, but he was certainly off putting and knew all too much.  
Sandor was expecting her to turn following her reunion with her siblings and climb back on her horse to ride to the small camp that had been set up for the Stark’s and their supporters. He couldn’t deny that she was a sight to behold amongst the Northern men, a perfectly poised picture of what a beautiful lady should be. Rather than step back towards her horse though, Sansa surprised him and took the few steps required to move from Bran to stand directly in front of him.  
“Clegane. It pleases me to meet with you again.” She chirped, always remembering the pretty words and lessons she had been taught by her Septa. The way she looked at him unnerved him, as though she were looking right through the mangled, ugly skin of his face to see the very depth of his being, his soul. It lasted only a few seconds though before he lowered himself to one knee in front of her.  
“It always pleases me to see you, Lady Sansa.” He told her as he rose from his position. She watched him closely, her icy blue eyes picking up on every slight movement he made as he rose back to his full height in front of her. The way she looked up at him exposed and lengthened her pale neck, and Sandor pretended not to notice that fact.   
A few seconds of silence passed as they appraised each other, until Jon broke the silence and started talking to Sansa about something Sandor didn’t even hear. She maintained eye contact with Sandor for as long as she could while she, Jon, Arya and Bran being pushed along by a still slightly clumsy Pod rejoined the small parade of Stark men making their way to the camp.   
She rounded a corner, losing sight of him and allowing life to start moving in real time for Sandor again. Once more the crowd were loud and the sun was hot on his face. He hadn’t even noticed how many people had gathered to see her and the Northerners arrive until he realised he was being lightly jostled. Most were too afraid to get too close to him, he did cut quite the imposing figure after all, but not many were concerned about who they may push into him.  
He shook his head as he wandered down the first quiet street he spotted, ignoring the either dead, passed out or sleeping people perched in most doorways. He fucking hated Kings Landing and all its tiny, rotten streets, but by the gods the people living there didn’t deserve the raining hell fire they had received.  
He let his mind seep into whatever thoughts it fancied as he walked idly through the streets he recognised from such a different time in his life. He thought back on saving Sansa during the bread riots, trying to convince her to go away with him after the green fire left him more afraid for her life than his own. He tried to pin point what it was about her that drew him in, captivated him in a way so strong it made him weak, but before he could ponder on it too long he saw a flash of gold in an alleyway to his right and found his interest, for the time being, caught upon other maters. 

He crept as silently as possible down the narrow alley, ignoring or stepping around the strewn debris from the surrounding homes that had been destroyed. He didn’t make a sound, making it all the easier to pin point where the whispers were coming from. For a moment, he considered just turning around and pretending he hadn’t noticed a thing. Hadn’t he had enough of becoming involved in other peoples plans and fights?  
His newfound morality wouldn’t let him though, and now Sansa was with in the city walls he didn’t want to just leave a situation which, if dealt with, may prevent any trouble finding its way to her in future. With a quick grimace and a fleeting thought of ‘What the fuck am I doing’, Sandor slammed his fist through what was left of a wall to reveal the two people squatting behind it.   
“What the fucks going on here then?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, amusement oozing out of everything from his eyes to his stance. He knew full well what would be going on with Brienne of fucking Tarth and the King Slayer sneaking around a destroyed city.   
“Can’t you see we’re just having a nice, relaxing day of-“   
Sandor cut Jaime off before he could continue, dragging him up by that pathetic golden hand until the smaller man was stood before him, the not so much smaller woman looking concerned at the situation from a few paces away. Sandor kept his face close to Jaime’s, enjoying his withstanding ability to absolutely terrify people, even the great King Slayer and his beast of a woman.   
“We’re not looking for trouble, we’re happy to be on our way.” Brienne interrupted then, stepping closer and placing her right hand on the hilt of her sword. Sandor looked at her for a hard moment and then, deciding she was deserving of his admittedly limited but often rightly placed respect, he let go of Jaime. He bit back a laugh as he stumbled backwards towards Brienne.   
“You think I’m looking for fucking trouble after all this?” He asked, indicating towards the ruined homes they were surrounded by. Brienne softened somewhat at that, moving her hand away from her sword though she still stretched her fingers in a way Sandor was sure would be menacing had he not been confident he was a better fighter than her. All the same, he didn’t fancy another fight with the big bitch. He didn’t really fancy a fight at all anymore, now the only one he’d ever particularly cared about winning was won. No, he’d only be hungering for a fight against anyone who dared try to harm Sansa in anyway.  
“Why are you sneaking about like fucking ants? No money on either of your heads is there?” Sandor asked, sitting down against the wall and pulling his small wine skin off his belt. He took a long gulp, then another, before offering it to his companions. They both shook their heads and he shrugged, taking several more mouthfuls before returning it to its place.   
“I didn’t think it wise people see Ser Jaime in the city, given his past reputation and current events in the city.” Brienne answered cautiously, causing Sandor to roar with laughter. Jaime and Brienne exchanged a confused and slightly concerned glance. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had seen a city destroyed and gone totally insane.   
“So what you’re saying is, two Queen’s have just died and you don’t fancy dragging the fucking king slayer through the streets.”  
“You see my position.” Jaime agreed as he edged closer to Brienne. Sandor stood up and looked over them both once more.   
“Both of you used to be much bigger cunts you know,” He told them, standing up ready to take his leave. “It’s a shame nothing is being repaired over by the west exit, anyone could get out there without being seen. I almost miss everyone being a cunt, made it easier to be one back.” 

He headed back towards where he had come from, questioning just when he had become so fucking nice. He was going soft, he decided. Helping Jon Snow, almost immediately followed by helping none other than the King Slayer and Brienne of Tarth was definitely a sign he was going soft. He was sure he wasn’t old enough to blame it on old age yet either.  
The crowd of the main street was just feet away when Sandor was stopped in his tracks by Arya dropping right down in front of him, seemingly from no where. She landed softly and looked at him with that smug expression she wore when she did something she knew he couldn’t. He looked up but saw only blue sky, no beams or walls for her to have jumped from.   
“What the fuck do you want now?” He growled, though none of the old vitriol was in his voice anymore. He cursed himself for sounding like he was in such good humour, the little wolf bitch would start thinking he actually liked her if he carried on like that.   
“Lady Sansa would like to meet with you as soon as possible, to discuss the council meeting tomorrow.” Arya’s voice went squeaky and mocking, and Sandor sent her a disapproving glare.   
“What’s that got to do with me?” He barked back, already walking with her towards the Stark camp.   
“How the fuck should I know?”   
He turned to clip her ear and remind her ladies don’t use language like that, but just as she had appeared she had disappeared from beside him without a trace. He hoped she wasn’t still close enough to hear him chuckle.   
He noticed Sansa the second he approached the camp and began walking towards her. She was sat on one of the few patches of grass remaining in the city, long layered skirts circling around her as she read a book. Her left hand was twirling a long strand of hair, first to the left and then to the right and then back. He watched her fidget for a moment, realising he had not seen her do so in such a peaceful manner before. Any other time he had seen her fidget was when she was trying to hide her feelings from Joffery or distract herself from what ever terror may be happening in court on any given day she had resided with in the city. Suddenly, it wasn’t so enchanting anymore so he took the last few required steps to be in front of her.   
“You requested my presence, my Lady.”   
“Yes! I was wondering if you might be present at my side during the council tomorrow. Should any disagreements arise I’d feel much more…prepared, with the best warrior in all seven kingdoms beside me.” She looked up at him with those big eyes and plump lips, as though she needed to look at him with so much hope and desperation for him to agree. As though he wouldn’t follow her every command like a good dog with nothing more in mind than to please his mistress.   
“It’d be an honour, Little Bird.” He replied, having to put true effort into tearing his eyes from hers. The way her face had lit up with his agreement had him close to falling to one knee and pledging himself and his sword to her. Instead, he simply nodded to her and walked away. He turned back to look at her only once, as he was about to turn a corner and was surprised to see her still watching him, the book entirely forgotten about with its pages splayed at her side as she smiled after him with the sun behind her lighting her hair as though it were fire or, more appealing in his eyes, a halo.


End file.
